“I’ve a notion,” he went on, “that the Lord’ll advise ye ’long th’ same lines ’s I hev. But don’t take my word fer it.”
“None of my prayers have been answered,” Barbara said, her red lips setting themselves in obstinate lines. “I’ve given up expecting anything so foolish. I prayed to have father get well, and he—died.”
“But he got well,” put in Peg quietly. “You c’n bet he did. Mebbe the Lord couldn’t fetch it ’round any other way. The’ was so many things ag’in him.”
Barbara’s delicate brows went up scornfully.
“I don’t call dying getting well,” she said.
“H’m!” murmured the old man gently. “Mebbe we don’t always call things by their right names.”
He got to his feet slowly.
“Wall, I mus’ be gittin’ out t’ the barn.”
He fixed his friendly, anxious eyes on the girl.
“I guess I’d figger a spell on that marryin’ proposition, ef I was you,” he said softly, and shook his head.